The Perfect Woman
by MarySkater
Summary: As a young man, before settling in the Opera House, Erik travelled widely in the East, employed by Shahs and Sultans as a maker of magic, a designer of traps and tricks, secret chambers and automatons. How he would deal with it if a Sultan required him to design a very particular kind of automaton – a perfect woman?
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

Soraya brushed her hair for the third time that morning. Life in the harem was a little dull, but very comfortable. Things could be worse. Her friend Ghazaleh had recently been promoted to Senior Concubine, with quarters of her own, but Soraya felt that she would rather live in the communal rooms with the other seven juniors of her group, where more things happened. This morning, Fatima had taught her little dog a new trick, finding a hidden kerchief. That had entertained the watchers for a while.

There was a sudden stir as a tall, stern-looking middle-aged woman entered. Orkideh, the Mistress of Concubines, cast her eyes imperiously round the room, and the quiet chatter died away as the women waited to hear the cause of this visit.

"You girls are becoming remiss in your duties," Orkideh began. "You may be good enough to please those honoured guests whom you are sent to, but the Sultan himself no longer finds you sufficiently amusing. He has consulted his Magician about this. You will have heard that the Magician made a mechanical dancer, which diverted the Sultan greatly. Now, the Sultan has had a new idea…" There was a subdued gasp among the women.

Orkideh nodded grimly. "I see you understand. Our master requires the Magician to make him a mechanical concubine, which is to have all the virtues, and none of the faults which irritate the Sultan. There is a small difficulty… Magicians, it seems, do not consort with women. I believe it… dissipates the spiritual powers."

"Then how…?" queried one of the bolder girls.

"How, indeed? The Magician has made it plain that, if he is to construct a perfect woman, he must first spend some time studying imperfect women. In detail."

"But… a man? Here?" Bold Afsoon shivered. "They say the Magician… well, they say many things about him. But he is a man."

"He is a man. He will come here," confirmed Orkideh. "He will be attended by the guards at all times. But he has permission to study you, with his eyes and with his hands. You are ordered by our master to do as he says, and make no protest. This will begin tomorrow."

When Orkideh had gone, eager conversation broke out. The room was more animated than it had been for many a day. "One of the maids told me of this Magician," began Soraya. "She handed him a goblet, and accidentally touched his hand. It was cold, she said, cold as a snow-chilled drink. And he wears a mask. They say his face is so terrible that those who see it are turned to stone."

Afsoon stood and stretched. "So this Magician, who does not consort with women, seeks a model for the perfect concubine?" She ran her hands down her body, and smiled a knowing smile. "Perhaps he will not have far to seek. Perhaps… I may cause a little turning to stone, on my own account."

Soraya was irritated by Afsoon's confidence. "We all know you have the perfect bosom. But there are things I can do with my legs and feet…" Then all the women began boasting their best features, laying wagers about whom the Magician would choose as his models.

Next morning there was tension in the women's quarters, until Orkideh sent a message that the Magician would not appear until afternoon. Bored and a little disappointed, Soraya began a game with her friends, tossing fans from one to another, while the lap-dogs ran about and tried to join in. But all thought of play ceased when there was a stir at the door. Several of the guards and servants entered, and with them the Magician, tall and thin, in his strange black European clothes, face and head covered by a white silk mask, reminiscent of a skull.

"You know why I am here," he began, in a voice as silky as his mask. "I have been set the task of observing you. Indeed, I have been watching you this last hour." He waved a long hand towards the grill high on the wall. Behind it, they knew, a watcher could sit hidden, as the Sultan did sometimes. "I am obliged to those of you who played the game. I wanted to see how you moved, how you acted. I know that my presence is likely to repress your natural spirits. But you will become accustomed to me. And I shall not ask more of you than to watch you… yet."

Afsoon rose from her couch. "You wish to watch how we move, my lord?" She undulated towards him, stopped and turned a slow pirouette. "Does not the maker of the mechanical dancer know all there is to know about movement? What else can we teach you?"

"Have any of you seen the dancer, on those evenings when the Sultan favours you?" He looked around the room, and saw some nodding heads. "Then you know that it is neither man nor woman. It is a shape, with elements of the gazelle and elements of the swan. Now I must learn the movements of real women, and moreover, women who have earned the approval of the Sultan. So tell me, graceful ladies, when you weary of reclining on your couches, what do you do to keep those lovely bodies slender and supple?"

"Sometimes we dance," responded Afsoon archly. She swayed, weaving her arms in elegant patterns, while her hips oscillated suggestively. "I think your gazelle-swan could not do that."

"We walk in our gardens," put in another woman, not willing to let Afsoon have all the attention.

"We swim in the pool," offered Lela. "Only…" a flush darkened her skin beyond its usual dusky hue.

"Only," completed the Magician, "to swim, you are naked. That, too, I shall watch, when the time is right." He eyed her appreciatively, and Lela's blush deepened.

"May I ask a question, my lord?" said Soraya, wanting to distract attention from poor Lela's embarrassment. "The mechanical dancer is moved by clockwork, and it is very clever, the way that it completes a dance as the music ends, so that it can be wound up again in the interval before the next piece of music. But a mechanical concubine… how would that be done? Our lord the Sultan prefers not to have attendants present when he takes his pleasure."

The Magician looked at her with interest. "A good question, little one, and I have already given thought to that matter. The mechanical concubine will have a mechanical maid, whose only purpose is to give her mistress a 'massage' when the mistress grows 'tired.' Then the maid will leave the room, so that she in her turn can be rewound."

Soraya nodded. "I see. Forgive me, my lord, but… is it not indiscreet to discuss your secrets with us?"

He moved closer, and the masked face fixed itself upon her. The eyes behind the mask-slits were deep-set and shadowed, but Soraya thought she could see a gleam of gold. "There is no secret to clockwork, curious one. Many craftsmen use it. But to make it do the things I make it do? Ah, that takes my unique magic. But enough of this. For now, perhaps some of you would like to walk in the gardens."

After that, he came daily, sitting in a corner with notebooks and pencils, writing or drawing. Oddly, it was timid Lela who first, in the manner of one braving a difficult task, threw off her garments and plunged into the pool, swimming with the grace of a mermaid, her long hair floating around her. The Magician came nearer and watched with interest, and soon the other women, not to be outdone, joined Lela in the pool. For they were all proud of their beauty, and as the strangeness of the situation grew less, this chance to show off was a new pleasure.

o-o-o


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Alone in his apartments that evening, Erik collated his notes and put final touches to his sketches. A strange task, for such a one as he, to be studying feminine beauty, and seeking to distil its essence. Stranger still, to him, was the way these women enjoyed the opportunity to display. He had his own experience of being put on display, and the memory was hateful. Evidently it was different for the harem women, even the one who had initially been timid, but who had flaunted boldly once begun. Except… that other one, the one who had been last into the pool, who had not left the water while he remained there. She had no reason to hide; she was as beautiful as the others. But he had seen her flinch from his eyes. That one, he felt he understood.

Next day, Erik and Orkideh sat in the room behind the grill, looking into the harem chamber. "Madame Orkideh, you have chosen a worthwhile group for me to study. All but… that one." He pointed.

Orkideh nodded. "I see. Has she displeased you, my lord? Our master's orders are that any who refuse to obey you shall be punished."

"No, no," replied Erik irritably. "She does not displease me, she is pretty enough. And she has not disobeyed me, for I have given her no orders. But her spirits are less lively than the others, and that makes her unsuitable for my purpose. Move her elsewhere. But she is not to be punished, and make sure these girls know that. To punish that one would only depress the spirits of the others, and make my work impossible. See to it now. I shall resume my studies in two hours."

When he returned to the women's chamber, he sat in his corner and made some sketches. Afsoon, sitting as usual where she would be visible, began rearranging her hair, raising her arms to show her body to advantage. If she wanted his attention, Erik decided that she should have it. "You," he called to her. "I wish to touch your hair. Stay there a moment." Laying aside his sketchbook and charcoal sticks, he summoned servants to bring him water and towels, and he washed his hands clean of the drawing materials. Then he moved briskly to stand behind Afsoon, and laid his hands gently on her cascade of black hair.

It was a significant moment, the first time that he had touched any of the women. He was confident that Afsoon would not mind; she had been scheming to get his attention ever since he started this work. But through the eye-slits of his mask, he watched the other women. They were interested, curious. None of them seemed to be afraid. That was good. He wound his hands more deeply into the ropes and coils of Afsoon's abundant hair, finding the experience pleasing. Then he carefully slid his hands under her hair, to rest on her shoulders, thinly clad in silk. She remained still, relaxed under his touch. He had deliberately washed his hands in warm water, and their natural chill had not yet returned. He slid them from her shoulders to the bare skin of her upper arms, savouring their smoothness, noting the contrast between the soft skin and the gold armlets that she wore.

Afsoon, a serene smile on her face, leaned back just a little, so that her body made contact with his. Then she seemed to sit still, but somehow she was making her back muscles ripple in time with her breathing, sending tiny electric thrills through him. He moved a little aside, took one of her arms in both his hands and stretched it out, seemingly absorbed in the play of the muscles and joints. Then he released her. "Thank you. Now I must make some notes."

He turned away to his chair in the corner of the room, seized his notebook and appeared to be writing industriously. In fact, in his mind, he was working through a complicated musical score. Eventually the distraction had the desired effect. He gathered his notes and returned to his quarters, where he dismissed the attendants.

For the first time, he regretted his choice of wearing European clothes in the court. True, in these Oriental surroundings, they gave him a suitable air of exotic mystery. But there were occasions when voluminous robes could give a man a little… privacy. When that Afsoon had squirmed so, against his body, his flesh had responded suddenly and with power. Just the memory repeated the effect. At least now, alone, he could and did seek the relief of his own hands. Ah, better…

He would have to do something about this. A man could not work properly under these conditions. Moving through to his workroom, he took stock of the herbs and chemicals there, then he sent out for two or three more ingredients, which were quickly found for him. Working with great care, he mixed, brewed and filtered, until left with a flask of clear greenish liquid, which he called his "cooling potion." He had used it before, and knew its effects very well. If he took a dose each day at breakfast, his body's natural responses would be suppressed for a few hours. The little strumpets could do their worst, but they would not get a rise out of him.

o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

After that, he touched all the women in turn. He began each session by warming his hands, but none of them seemed to mind as his skin grew cooler. Initially he would stroke hair, then handle their arms and legs, studying the range of movements. In the main, this taught him nothing he did not already know, although he found Soraya to be surprisingly flexible, and all of them had skin which was pleasingly soft and smooth. But this casual examination accustomed the women to his touch, and sometimes he would catch a glimpse of annoyance in one or other of them as he left her to move on.

He sometimes noticed Orkideh watching him with a knowing expression. She seemed to realise what he was doing, and perhaps felt it was time to progress to more interesting matters. "My lord," she began one day, "I see you understand that limbs are similar from one woman to the next. It is parts of the body not encumbered with bones which show more variation. Now, girls!" She called them to stand in line, sorting them into a particular order. "All of you, loosen your bodices and let the Magician see your breasts." With one or two smiles and giggles, the women obeyed.

Erik blinked. Orkideh evidently knew her girls well. She had sorted them by bosom size, from petite, almost boyish at one end of the line, to voluptuously well-endowed at the other. Shape and skin-tone varied as well as size… with an effort, and with silent thanks for the effects of his cooling potion, he focused his mind on the task he had to accomplish for the Sultan. "Thank you, Madame Orkideh. I must make some drawings."

"Of course, my lord, but if I may suggest, you should really use your hands as well as your eyes, to understand what is before you." Stepping to Soraya, near the middle of the row, Orkideh casually placed her hands on the girl's breasts, rubbing and lifting, circling the nipples with her thumbs and gently pinching them with her fingertips. Soraya accepted the attention calmly. "Try that one," Orkideh went on, nodding towards Afsoon who was near the well-endowed end of the line. "She is much admired."

Not daring to think too much about it, Erik moved to Afsoon and copied Orkideh's movements. He had never… the only body he was familiar with was his own, and that had nothing to compare with this feeling. How could breasts be so firm and yet so pliant? What made this silken warmth different from other touches? He kept his eyes on what his hands were doing, but from the sound of Afsoon's deep breathing, and the way she leaned into his touch, she did not object. The nipples were remarkably soft… but very soon, they grew harder, and that was interesting, too.

Erik stepped back. "A most enlightening demonstration. I must record this in my books. It will take some time, and I do not wish the ladies to grow tired."

Orkideh signalled to the servants, who brought seats for the women, placing them in the row as they stood. "You may sit, girls. Sit nicely, heads up, shoulders back. Await the Magician's convenience. Stand if he asks you, or move, or kneel near him to be touched – whatever he wants."

Erik had heard the metaphor of a child turned loose in a candy store, but this was the first time he had really understood it. Still, he had work to do. He wrote and sketched, looked and touched, and even measured. Knowing that he would have to reproduce all these fascinating sensations in a mechanical device, he gradually developed a scientist's absorption with the problem. But although his mind was occupied, his body began to remind him that he was a man, and the cooling potion was wearing off. With courteous thanks to the ladies of the harem, he took himself, his notes and his burgeoning desires to the privacy of his quarters.

Later, he lay back on his bed, totally relaxed. The assignment was making demands on him, physically. He had never been so stimulated. But he had no regrets. This experience was causing him to adjust his thoughts. Was it really so impossible that he could ever have a real relationship with a woman? Of course, not many people in the court had seen his face, and none of the harem women, but they seemed to accept the mask without question. Perhaps these Orientals had different standards from the women who had recoiled from him in Europe. He hardly bothered warming his hands now, and they were untroubled by his cold touch, seeming to find it interesting and intriguing. Buxom Mahvash had actually taken his hands and tucked his fingers under her full breasts, letting him feel the warmth there. What dreams that inspired…

Enough. He had work to do. The Sultan had some novel ideas about the "perfect bosom," and he had to apply his mind to the problem. Working at his desk, he summarised what he had learned about appearance and touch. He recalled what his hands had told him, but… how did it feel for a man to stand behind a woman, put his arms round her and cup her breasts that way? Why had he not tried that? It should give a good contact. He would have to do it tomorrow, but that was to admit a mistake, that he had not thought about it today.

While he was berating himself for carelessness, the maid came in with fresh candles for the sconces. Ah, she would do. Not harem trained, of course, but another Oriental woman, and these maids were available to any man of rank who wanted them.

She completed her task. "Does the master require anything else?" she asked automatically.

"Yes. Just stand still for a moment. This will not take long…" Pressing himself to her back, he slid his hands under her arms and round to her breasts, feeling them through her thin garments. She gave a small cry of fear, then he felt her cringe, seeming to collapse in on herself as she tried to withdraw from his hands, and yet not press against his body. With an effort she stood still, though she shuddered, and he could hear a barely-suppressed whimper with each breath she drew. He could almost feel the terror and loathing radiating from her. Abruptly he released her. She collapsed to the floor, crouching at his feet.

"Master… forgive me… I have displeased you."

To displease him could cost her a flogging, if not her life. He stepped back. "No. You have taught me something. That is enough. You may go." She scurried from the room, and he heard a sob as she pulled the door closed.

In sudden rage, he threw his mask aside. Ripping the cover from the room's mirror, he stared at himself. "Stupid dreams," he whispered, "to think that any normal woman could accept me. Has that one ever seen my face? Whether she has or not, she feels the horror of me. I suppose she feared I would drag her to my bed, and that was unendurably abhorrent to her. Those harem women who tolerate me are not of the real world. Whores all, trained whores who would mate with an ape or a tiger if their lord commanded it. What happens there is a fantasy, and I am a fool to be deceived by it."

He turned away from the mirror and went into his workroom. The skeleton of the automaton concubine lay on his bench, and much of the mechanism was built, but the flesh had still to be perfected. He picked up his tools and continued his work, while his evil mood dissipated. When he had done enough for one session, he returned to his chamber and re-covered the mirror.

"If it is a fantasy, it is a pleasant one. No harm in enjoying it, so long as I remember that it cannot last. Today, breasts. Tomorrow…? I wonder."

o-o-o


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Next day, Orkideh had been called away to other duties, so Erik continued his examination of the women's breasts, a subject certainly deserving of careful study. Soraya suggested hesitantly that breasts felt different when a woman was floating in water. This was not really relevant to his perfect concubine, who was not required to be a swimmer, but it seemed too good a chance to miss. He sent the servants to bring him other clothes, and went into a side room to change. What would preserve his dignity? He chose a loose-fitting tunic and trousers, gathered at wrists and ankles. Over those he added a long robe with heavy bead embroidery at the hem, which would stop it from billowing. Thus clad, he slid himself into the shoulder-deep water.

Laughing, the girls stripped off and plunged in, surrounding him. Predictably, Afsoon was first to press her back to his chest, pulling his hands round to cup her magnificent breasts, now soft and weightless in the water. He stroked and massaged and gently pinched, while she rubbed her hips sensually against him. The cooling potion did its work, and she did not get the response she expected, but Erik was storing all the sensations in his memory, to be recalled in privacy later. When he had felt enough, he reached a hand down and gave her a slap on her behind, cushioned by the water but hard enough to tell her to move away. In turn he called all the other women to come to him and be handled in this new way.

The pool was lavishly decorated, and it was not obvious that among the ornate wall panels was a disguised viewing grid, nor that some of the pretty underwater tiles were really a window. In the room behind, the Sultan watched all that was going on, attended by Orkideh, moving between the panels to observe both above the water and under the surface.

"This was a clever idea of the little Soraya's," murmured the Sultan. "But I wonder about this Magician. What real man could do as he is doing, and yet be unmoved? What about him, Orkideh? Is he a eunuch?"

"I… believe not, Majesty. Perhaps he has some tricks of magic to keep control. But I have watched him as he watches the girls. He is… interested. Oh yes."

The Sultan shrugged. "Whether or not he can succeed in the task I have set him, the time has not been wasted. Most diverting to watch." Mahvash the well-endowed swam past the underwater window, undulating delightfully. Soraya, now in Erik's arms being sized up, wriggled a little, turning them both towards the window. Did she realise it was there, and that it was being used? The Sultan drew a deep breath. "Oh yes, that one is clever."

Orkideh eyed her master knowingly. "Majesty, shall I fetch one of the girls for you?"

"No need, no need, Orkideh. You know what to do, better than any of them." He shifted position a little on his seat, and Orkideh came closer, doing what needed to be done, while he continued to watch the action in the pool through half-closed eyes.

o-o-o

Next day, Orkideh greeted Erik and apologised for her previous absence. "I am sorry if I have delayed your work, my lord. My master has instructed me to make sure that you have all the information you may need, so I thought we should progress thus today. Fatima – " Orkideh beckoned, and Fatima stepped forward, clad in a loose gown. Unselfconsciously she dropped the gown to the floor and stood naked, then at Orkideh's gesture, stretched herself on a couch. Orkideh pushed the girl's knees far apart, and began to point out the revealed bodily details to Erik.

Erik's mask was a full hood, covering face, head and neck down to his collar. He was glad of that now, as he felt an unaccustomed blush warm his skin. The woman was so damned cold-blooded about it! Like a butcher discussing prime joints of meat. And the girl herself was relaxed and even a little bored, accustomed to being the meat on the slab.

"As you see," Orkideh was explaining, "Fatima is not, at the moment, aroused. The experience is better for the man if the woman's body is ready for him. Some men like to warm up a woman. Some would rather that she brought herself to readiness, and all these girls are taught to do that. But some of my master's guests like to see one woman bring another to arousal, so that also is taught here. Afsoon – "

Afsoon came near, and began to stroke Fatima. "Some women," Orkideh went on, "prefer the touches of other women to those of men. But such are not good candidates for the harem. All these girls respond better to men, but to please or be pleased by each other is a skill which they learn as part of their training."

Afsoon smiled and continued to work on Fatima. Gentle touches at first, to hair and throat, then sweeping strokes along her body and thighs, before settling to more intimate caresses. Fatima's breathing became more rapid, and she made small sounds of pleasure. Erik had read enough to know that such symptoms could be pretence, but Fatima's body began to show genuine signs of arousal, which Orkideh pointed out in ruthless detail. Then, at a wave of Orkideh's hand, Afsoon stopped and stepped back. Fatima gave a whimper of disappointment.

"Now, Lord, if the girl was at work, she would be ready for her man. But as she is not at work, and this is a demonstration – " At her signal, Afsoon returned to her task, continuing until Fatima reached her release, with gasping breath and ripples through her body.

"Most illuminating," Erik remarked. His rigid self-control kept his voice steady, and there was no external sign of his racing heart. "I must make some notes." He returned to the blessed sanctuary of his chair in the corner and his notebook. The cooling potion was doing its work on the part of his body it had been designed to affect, but that experience had set fires throughout his system. It was not as if he had never seen such a sight before, he scolded himself. From childhood and adolescence, curiosity and jealousy had led him to spy on couples taking their pleasure. But to see that woman, willingly spread before him like a meal for his delectation, that was something new.

When Erik felt himself sufficiently in control, he completed his writing and set aside his notebooks. Orkideh approached him and bowed.

"My lord, the Sultan has spoken to me of your studies, and insisted that you be given every opportunity to touch the girls in the most intimate manner, so that you can understand his requirements of texture and pliancy. I apologise if this task shall seem repetitive and tedious to you, but if you will deign to examine each of the seven girls in this group, then I can report to our master that his orders have been obeyed."

Erik drew a long breath. "Our master's wishes, of course, are paramount, Madame Orkideh. I shall let you arrange this in whatever manner you see fit."

And so each woman in turn was presented to him, stretched naked on a couch. Like meat on a slab, he thought again, and the whole task now seemed distasteful to him. Fastidiously he washed his hands each time, ostensibly to warm them. To the women, the process seemed merely a matter of routine. Afsoon went so far as to breathe more heavily and put on an expression of enjoyment when he touched her, but by now he was used to her attention-seeking, and paid her little regard. Part of his mind was aware that, under other circumstances, the opportunity to touch a woman in this way might have evoked a very different response in him. To be private with a woman who had chosen to be with him, who welcomed his touch for the pleasure it gave her… that would be an experience to be cherished. But it would never happen, and such thoughts were a useless distraction.

Gradually he was able to steer his mind into the technical challenge of how to reproduce the various sensations which his hands encountered. Dispassionately, he told Orkideh that he must also learn how a woman felt at the culmination of her arousal, for the mechanical concubine had to simulate this. Orkideh herself brought Afsoon to climax, while Erik's hands rested on her body. Then Erik mechanically copied the techniques on Mahvash, until he felt the contractions surge through her. Now he could tell himself he had done enough, and leave this task.

Orkideh had one more item for his consideration. She led him to a decorated cabinet, opened the door and reached inside.

"Of course, my lord, the girls must practise all their skills. Then these tools become useful." She produced an ivory carving of an erect phallus, very lifelike, mounted on a wooden handle. Erik glanced past her and into the cabinet. The "tools" were graded by size and shape. Those on the top row were scaled-down models, small and slender, no bigger than a finger. Orkideh followed his glance. "They are for the youngest girls, just beginning their training." Erik's gaze travelled down, past the middle shelf from where Orkideh had produced her sample, to the bottom shelf… his eyes widened behind the mask. Orkideh, fortunately, failed to notice, her attention on some nearly-invisible dust on one of the bottom-row specimens. Pulling the item, a more than generous handful, from the rack, she polished it with a silk kerchief and replaced it, then waved a hand to indicate the whole cabinet. "The girls learn to be versatile, but we find their particular talents. Some can easily accommodate the largest of men, others can closely embrace the smallest. Of course, most men are of the medium size, including our master the Sultan, so if the mechanical concubine is for his exclusive use, it need not be scaled to the extremes."

Erik felt that damned blush on his face again. Still, it could not be seen, and if he could not control his skin, he could control his voice. "Very interesting, Madame Orkideh, but perhaps the mechanical concubine should be able to do all that a living woman could do, or even more. After all, our master may someday have a whim to put it to the test." He waved a nonchalant hand at the cabinet. "I think I should borrow a selection of your tools and take them to my workshop, so that I can make suitable allowances."

Orkideh called a servant to bring a padded silk bag for the ivory carvings, and included with them a number of rings and sleeves, which, she casually observed, could be worn by a man to produce interesting sensations in both man and woman. Erik thankfully made his escape with his dubious trophies, to regain his composure alone.

o-o-o


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

The work was done, the mechanical concubine handed over to the Sultan. Now Erik could relax for a while, until the next task was assigned, or until he himself found some new way to amuse the Sultan and increase his own importance. But it was pleasant to spend an evening resting, reading, with no pressing need for thought or action.

A knock came at his door. With a sigh he sat up on the couch where he had been reclining, laid aside his book, donned his mask and called, "Enter."

The door opened. Soraya stood there, a tray in her hands. Two guards stood close to her. One of them had opened the door, and closed it again behind Soraya as she entered, leaving both guards outside. She placed the tray, with a decorated flask and two jewelled goblets, on a table, then turned to Erik and bowed to him.

"My lord, I greet you. Our master the Sultan sends me with a gift for you, in token of his appreciation. The perfect concubine which you made for him pleases him very much." She poured wine into both goblets, and offered both to Erik. When he chose one, she drank deeply from the other. Erik nodded. That was correct palace etiquette, where important people had their food tasted by an underling as a precaution against poison. He sipped the wine, which was delicate and slightly spiced, very pleasant. But any servant could have brought the wine and the rich goblets. It had to be significant that Soraya had been sent from the harem on such a task. He eyed her shrewdly.

"And does this gift include your services?"

Soraya set down her wine, knelt before him and bowed very low, then raised her head to look at him. "That is your choice, my lord. Our master understands your rule of abstaining from women. If you are permitted to relax this rule between tasks, then I am instructed to please you, in any manner you wish. If you do not wish for this, then you may send me away."

She waited patiently for his answer, while he stared down at her, his mind racing. Oh, it was tempting. Then he thought of the maid who had cringed away from his touch. Soraya was at least accustomed to his hands. But that had been in the familiar surroundings of the harem, with her friends around her and guards watching. Now she did not have that comfort, and this would be much more than the touch of his hands.

She would do it. She would submit to him, if he so ordered, and she would even pretend to enjoy it. But if, in her heart, she felt the horror of him, if her mind recoiled though her body could not… he would know. And he would loathe himself even more than she loathed him. After such an experience, he would never be able to look at a woman again. With a flash of his wry humour, he thought that at least he would never need to brew any more of his cooling potion. A proverb from the land of his childhood came back to him: _Qui onques rien n'enprist riens n'achieva._ He had met that thought in many languages: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Soraya had not moved. It was time to answer her. "To send you away would be to refuse a gift from the Sultan. That is not polite. Nor is it wise." He patted the couch beside him, and she sat there obediently. But if he was to pursue this, there was something he had to know.

"So you were ordered to come to me? Did all the women draw lots, and you were the loser?"

"Oh, no! You are wrong! Our master told Orkideh to choose one of us for you. Orkideh is very wise. She drew me aside, and told me this. She had watched every day, and she could see that I admired you. Your keen mind, your air of command… these beautiful hands." She stroked one of his hands, shyly, for until now it had always been he who initiated touching. "And Orkideh said that you found me… interesting… because I am more clever than some of the girls. Had I been unwilling, she would have looked elsewhere, but I was glad of the opportunity." Soraya's head drooped. "I wish she had picked me for my beauty. But I am not the most beautiful in the harem. Only… Orkideh said that that would not matter to you."

"Indeed. Orkideh is truly wise." He took a strand of her hair and wound it round his fingers. "No man could complain of your beauty. But you have… other attributes, too. If beauty were everything, I might have desired that soulless automaton that I built for the Sultan. But that has no allure for me."

"Please – I never quite understood. What is it in the mechanical concubine that our master could not find in us?"

"Oh… breasts that can be small or full, according to his mood, and can change even as he takes his pleasure. Hips likewise, and with moving parts inside that can… stimulate him. No hair apart from the head, nor marks where hair had been removed." Erik took Soraya's wrist, and stroked the cobweb-fine down that grew on her arm. "He wanted no sweat, and no natural odour." Laying his head briefly on her shoulder, he inhaled through the mask-slits. "He sacrificed this scent of clean, healthy flesh in favour of the contrivances of the perfumer. But that was his choice."

"You speak as though his idea of the perfect woman would not be your idea of perfection."

"I? I have given little thought to the matter. But… no. A living woman like yourself has more appeal for me. Tell me, who decided that you should come to me unperfumed? Orkideh?"

"No… that was my choice. I thought it would be right. When you have been among us, sometimes I have seen you step back a little from those who wear the strongest perfumes."

"Then you are indeed cleverer than your harem-sisters. Their scents are often too much."

"So your perfect woman would wear little or no perfume. My lord, I have heard that in some countries, men – even rich, powerful men – take only one wife, and do not keep concubines. It seems to me that, for a man seeking such a wife, the perfect woman would have to be a virgin. He would want a woman who had never given her body, mind or heart to anyone else. For a man like that, I would be very far from perfect. But here in this land where the customs are different, and where a man may seek, not the companion of a lifetime but simple pleasure for an evening… then perhaps there may be some ways in which I approach perfection."

Erik stroked her shoulder, and looked into her face. "For some men… in some circumstances… a woman of experience is to be preferred." He slid his hand down to her silk-clad breast. He had handled her body often, but that had been work, with the pleasure an accidental by-product. Now he could touch her purely for enjoyment. Watching her eyes darken, he gained confidence that the enjoyment was mutual. Smiles and sighs might be pretence, but only real pleasure could make the pupils of the eyes dilate without drugs. He began to believe that she desired his touch.

Nor was he wrong. Soraya welcomed these caresses, shared by a man and a woman, not a scientist and his specimen. Yet the Magician was still a man of strange powers and wisdom, and that stirred excitement in her. His hands roved over her, and she loosened her clothing here and there, letting him reach inside to her skin. She could glimpse his eyes behind the mask, and they seemed to grow avid, but she could not be sure. The mask-slits which let him breathe and eat were cunningly designed to give no hint of the face beneath. She reached a hand slowly towards his face, and let it hover questioningly.

"No," he warned quietly. "You do not touch the mask."

"As my lord wishes." When she lowered her hand to rest on his chest, he made no objection to that. "I fear I am unfamiliar with these garments," she went on. "Will it please you to remove them, or merely to part them?"

"If I retain them… it would spare you the chill of my skin."

She made a little sound of disappointment. "Spare me… or deprive me? Already I have warmed your hands. I was looking forward to warming… more of you."

"You have begun already." Taking her hand, he pressed it to the front of his trousers, and she smiled with delight at what she felt.

"Ah… then you can respond, when you want to. We all saw your restraint in the harem, when any other man would have been… distracted."

"In the harem, I was permitted to use only my hands and my eyes. That no longer applies." He slid the bodice from her shoulders, and Soraya, quick to help him, shed all her clothes and returned to his embrace. He bent his head to her breast, and she felt a hot mouth on her nipple, lips and tongue busy, teeth touching but not hurting her. Panting, she tried to stroke his body, but was baffled by the unfamiliar clothing.

Drawing back from her, he began undoing his buttons and fastenings, removing garment after garment until he was naked but for the mask. For all his wisdom and authority, he looked young, his body lean but strong, his skin smooth, his masculinity… oh yes, that was the vigour of youth. She stroked his arms and chest and thighs, wondering how much further to go, since she could not see his expression to judge if he welcomed her hands. Suddenly he turned away from her. Had she done something wrong? No. He went to his bed and threw back the covers, then returned to Soraya. Abruptly he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, then stretched himself beside her. There was a coldness to his skin, but wherever she pressed against him, he quickly warmed. Now she reached down to caress him intimately. His breathing, his low moans, the shivers in his flesh, told her that she was doing right. And yet… he seemed hesitant. Most men who could exhibit such proof of virility would have leapt upon her by now. Could it be true that he had never…? If so, she must be careful not to embarrass him.

"My lord, I would like to try to please you, if you will permit it."

"You… you do please me, Soraya. But what is it that you wish?"

"Only this." With hands on his shoulders, she gently pressed him back on to the pillows. "Do you not remember why we learn the belly-dance? Then, oh wise man, lie back, and be reminded."

With practised ease she mounted him, and slowly drew him into her body. She was fully ready for him, without needing to employ those tricks of self-arousal that she sometimes had to use with the Sultan. She wished she could see his expression. But his eyes behind the mask-slits had closed, and his breath exhaled in a long, long sigh. She warned herself to be cautious. All her training was to prolong the experience. This man would not need much stimulating. She moved her hips gently, in small circles. Even that… his breathing grew harsh, and his hands clutched at her waist. She paused in her movements, took one of his hands and guided it to the centre of her pleasure.

"Please… will you do this for me? You studied us… you know how."

His fingers, strong and sensitive, began to work. Soraya's eyes flew wide, and she gasped. He was watching her again, but she had no need to pretend, only to let him see the truth of what he was doing to her, and he learned very quickly. "Oh! Oh, my lord…" Her hips moved again, and now it was not only his eagerness she must restrain, but her own. To be careful, to move gently, was a sweet torment, until he began to thrust into her, lifting her with his power. Throwing caution aside, she pumped her hips hard and brought him to his release, reaching her own as she felt him surge beneath her. "Oh… my lord…" The words were a sigh, and she slumped bonelessly forward, laying her head on his chest, utterly satisfied.

For Erik, thought was drowned in a sea of sensation. He drifted in a perfect moment, with no wish for time to resume its passage. Still, he could never be completely unaware of what happened around him. Dimly he knew that Soraya held him until his body relaxed, and could no longer remain joined to her. Idly he realised that she was wiping him dry with a soft cloth, and he was vaguely surprised at himself, that he could let another person perform so intimate a service for him. But it was sweeter not to think, and merely to float in this nirvana.

Gradually, awareness became sharper, and his eyes opened. Soraya had left the bed and was seated on a stool, combing the tangles from her hair, humming softly to herself as she did so. Behind his mask, Erik grimaced. Soraya's humming was flat, almost toneless. Having seen her dance, he knew she had a keen sense of rhythm, but that voice? No, she would never be a singer. Then he smiled to himself. That was one way that Soraya could not be his perfect woman. If Erik could design a wife for himself, she would have to be musical.

Still, Soraya had much to recommend her. He turned his head to see her more clearly, and she instantly laid the comb aside, came to the bed and knelt beside it.

"I hope I pleased you, my lord. Since I may not see your face, it is hard for me to judge."

"Certainly you pleased me, Soraya. And though my face keeps its secrets, surely my body told you as much."

She smiled. "Then I am happy. Would you like more wine, my lord? There is plenty in the flask."

"Yes. And pour for yourself also, for you were working hard."

When she brought the wine he sat up, and had her sit beside him, putting his arm round her shoulders while he quenched his thirst. She snuggled trustingly against him, as warming to his heart as to his skin. This was not love, he knew, not for either of them, but such a brief, shared tenderness had its own delight. Her flushed skin, her darkened eyes, told him he had given her genuine pleasure, and that was incredibly satisfying. Just to think of it…

He drained the rest of his wine, and Soraya, copying him, finished hers and set both cups aside. Sensing his mood, she watched him expectantly to see what he would want of her. Erik pushed her to lie flat, spread his hands on her breasts and fondled them, breathing hard, then stroked along her body until he groped one hand between her legs. She gasped, and for a moment he thought he had hurt her, but she took his hand and pressed it harder against her. Moving closer to her, he rubbed himself on her thigh.

"My lord," murmured Soraya, "whatever you want is right. But if you put a pillow under my hips to raise them, you may find it more convenient. Even more so, if you use your arms to raise my legs."

Erik hesitated. "That would double you up. I do not wish to hurt you."

"Hurt me!" Soraya laughed. "Do you forget my particular talents?" Wriggling free of him, sitting up on the bed, she grasped first one of her feet, then the other, and tucked them behind her head. Balancing carefully, she stretched out her arms and smiled at him, while Erik gazed in bemusement at the impossible human knot she had become. "I admit," she went on, "I prefer not to hold this position for too long." She unravelled herself. "But when I can put my feet behind my own head, it is easy for me to put them behind yours. Come nearer – " Without analysing how it happened, Erik found himself so close to her inviting centre that to slide into her was no effort at all, and the velvet warmth encasing his manhood seemed to encase his whole self. His heart beat fast, an irresistible throb that echoed through all his body as he thrust fiercely into her hidden treasure... hidden pleasure… His mind grew cloudy, deluged by unthinking sensations. Ecstasy overwhelmed him, and all thought ceased.

o-o-o

Soraya was conducted to the Sultan's presence. Kneeling before him, she touched her forehead to the floor.

"Approach me, little Soraya," he said benignly, indicating a stool near his feet. "Tell me of your encounter with the Magician."

"I left him well asleep, Majesty. Indeed, I… I feel I must sleep myself, soon. Your special wine has power." Swaying a little, she moved to the stool, and set one jewelled goblet on the floor at the Sultan's feet.

"Did you not take the antidote before you went to him?"

"Oh yes. But he would have me match him, drink for drink. And then…"

"Ah. Did he find other ways to make you sleepy? I have often wondered if his refusal to have to do with women is truly to conserve the vital forces, as he says, or merely the excuse of a man who is incapable."

"Majesty, I found him very… capable. Perhaps somewhat unpractised."

"It would be interesting to give him the practice, and see what he could learn. But I do not wish to weaken the powers of my Magician. We shall let him return to the celibacy he has chosen. My question is answered, and the special wine will let us keep this little secret. You did well, pretty Soraya. Keep the goblet; it was well earned." He clapped his hands twice, and servants entered. "Escort this girl back to her quarters, and let her sleep as long as she wishes."

o-o-o

Erik woke from an unusually deep sleep. The light of broad day shone at the window, and that too was unusual, for him to sleep so late. Perhaps his mind had relaxed, now that the Sultan's difficult task was achieved. Or had he gone to bed very late?

As he threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor, he frowned, trying to remember the night before. His memory was hazy… why would that be? It had rained… no, that was the previous night. Had last night been so ordinary that his memory could find nothing to fix on?

His eyes fell upon a wine flask on the table, and a single jewelled goblet. Something stirred in his mind… someone had mentioned a gift from the Sultan. Then what… ah. He saw a pile of coloured silk, folded on top of a chest. When he went to look, it proved to be a gorgeous robe in Chinese style, with a matching hat. How appropriate – he had been thinking that robes would be suitable wear for his life here.

Erik returned his attention to the wine flask. Also from the Sultan? It was empty, but retained a delicate fragrance. If this was why he had slept so soundly, then it must have been very potent, for he was not given to over-indulgence. With habitual suspicion of anything out of the ordinary, he contemplated his bodily condition, but found no hint of poison or drug, not even the usual ailments of those who imbibed too much liquor.

On the contrary, he felt well. Very well. Quite remarkably well…

*** THE END ***


End file.
